Beyond
by Selena Snow
Summary: Sequel to A Floral Fantasy. Shinsou hadn't wanted to fall in love with Asagao. There are just some types of people you don't want to fall in love with: those who are already taken, those who don't match with your sexuality, and (most importantly in the line of hero work) villains. Enter a villain who is frustratingly elusive. Shinsou x OC Warning: some dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to the sequel of A Floral Fantasy: Beyond. This fic can pretty much be a stand-alone, but if you want the full context, I highly recommend reading the other story first. Without further ado, please enjoy!**

* * *

_"We interrupt our weather forecast for breaking news— Japan's number one pro hero Deku just announced his engagement to Nakano Asagao, owner of Nakano's Flowers! According to Deku, they have been engaged for a month, but wanted to keep it private while they began looking at wedding venues to keep away the crowds of fans!_

_For anyone who doesn't know— and honestly, is there anyone out there like that?— Deku and Nakano-san have been dating for almost two years. From the beginning, the pair was thrown into turmoil when Nakano-san was kidnapped by members of the group formerly known as the League of Villains._

_After she was rescued, Nakano-san began receiving training from UA graduate Shinsou Hitoshi, better known as pro hero Echo. With Deku and Nakano-san's last trial of love barely over, they faced a new one in the form of Toga Himiko— now behind bars— attempting to sabotage their relationship!_

_There are rumors that Deku and Nakano-san split up briefly after the incident, but no confirmations. Slowly but surely, Nakano-san became more invested in the hero circle, and just last September, she became an officially licensed pro hero. Though she claims her true passion will always be her flower shop, it's wonderful to see the new hero teaming up with Deku whenever the need arises!_

_From Hero Update Tonight, we wish Deku and Nakano-san all the best!"_

* * *

Shinsou hadn't wanted to fall in love. There are just some types of people you don't want to fall in love with: those who are already taken, those who don't match with your sexuality, and (most importantly in the line of hero work) villains.

And yet over the edge he'd gone, falling, falling, falling endlessly until he finally hit the ground and was forced to face the facts. She was with someone else. And he had to move on.

Of course, that was hard to do with her face seemingly everywhere on social media and talk shows and newspaper stands, but he managed. And by managed, I mean he took up as many night shifts as possible, if only because avoiding anything and everything related to her just seemed easier under the veil of darkness.

It was pathetic, really, to have fallen so hard so quickly. But then no, it wasn't, because how could anyone _not_ fall for someone as kind and smart and funny and beautiful as—

Shinsou didn't let himself finish the thought.

He refocused his eyes on the midnight cityscape before him. He had a job to do. And he was sure _they_ were going to make things difficult again.

* * *

**Three months earlier…**

Deep purple eyes scanned the warehouse rooftop. It was his typical lookout place (well, one of them), but something was off. Seemed that tip he got earlier was correct.

Shinsou hoisted himself up to the highest vantage point, relaxing his shoulders as soon as he landed. Stay calm, casual. If whoever it was suspected he knew of their presence, then they might run away. Leave an opening— that was where he'd get them.

The underground hero put his hands in his pockets. Waiting. Listening. Acting like he was doing neither of those things. He would do it as long as he needed to, but the faint sound of footsteps told him the wait wouldn't be endless.

He had to admire whoever it was, though. They were being smart— avoiding the gravel, not crunching on any of the broken glass. Clearly not a novice. And that's how he knows that when there's the sound of a foot crushing a can on the ground, it's not an accident.

Turning around, Shinsou mastered his expression into one of faux-curiosity. "Oh, hey, what are you doin' up he—"

_"Fun?" the florist echoed. Shinsou didn't give an explanation with words. Instead, he tossed his capture weapon up toward the rafters with practiced ease, commanding it to tighten onto the pipes._

_After a moment, a light of recognition went off in Asagao's eyes (the ones that were so similar to his it was almost like looking in a mirror). "I-I don't think I can throw it that high," she stammered. "And the knots! How did you—"_

_"Don't worry, I'm just making it easier for you," Shinsou said patiently. Eri had been the same way when he'd started training her. "You're going to attach yours to mine. You'll be low enough to the ground that I can catch you if you fall."_

_The florist swallowed hard, then nodded. "So…how do I…?"_

_Shinsou stepped forward. That was a mistake. Those eyes were sucking him in, asking for his help, his wisdom, his assistance, and he couldn't resist. When he took a section of her loaned capture weapon into his hands, he tried to not think of how the fabric served as a connection between them._

_"Mental quirks like ours make it easier, but again, it'll take practice. Think of it like one of your plants— it will respond to you, do what you want it to. For now, your goal is to hook your scarf onto mine."_

_Asagao tilted her head. "And then what?"_

_The hero shrugged. "And then you swing. Helps you get over the fear of heights, too, if you have that."_

_Only a couple minutes later, he stared up at her, wondering why he couldn't look away._

_She looked like a fairy from a children's book, perched up on their makeshift swing. Her smile was bright and wide, giggles that she couldn't help slipping out, and Shinsou suddenly wished for Ochako's quirk so he could float up to be in that perfect little world with her._

_And like a bullet train traveling at full speed, the realization of what he was thinking hit him._

_Mentally slapping himself, Shinsou called out, "Enjoying yourself?"_

_"Yup!" she replied, still pumping her legs, completely oblivious to the sudden war that had broken out in his mind and heart. "I feel bad that I'm having all the fun, though."_

_The hero shook his head, a chuckle coming out unbidden. "I'll join another time. You did well for a first lesson. What did you see inside your mind space?"_

_Asa hummed thoughtfully. "I saw a vine…I don't know why, I've never really worked with—"_

Shinsou gasped as he was thrown abruptly back into the present. He was lying on the dirty surface of the warehouse roof, breathless, and he looked up to see silver eyes staring down at him with disgust.

"W-Wait—" he croaked thoughtlessly. "What did you do to me?"

Silver eyes simply rolled. And then, the figure that owned them stalked off into the night, leaving a hero who, for the first time in several years, felt out of his depth.

* * *

After he'd finally gotten his wits about him, it hadn't taken long to figure out what had happened. His acquaintance had a voice activated quirk, just like his. How ironic.

Even more ironic was how fate continued to push the two together, like some sort of terribly planned version of chess where neither could possibly win.

The two of them were at a stalemate, neither able to move their pieces without the other immediately claiming the victory. It was their routine, their cat and mouse chase. Their futile game. And Shinsou was starting to get tired of it.

If you were wondering, he'd tried many things over the past three months.

Learning JSL had been his first idea. He hadn't heard them speak, after all, and oftentimes he had discovered a fascinating link between types of quirks and certain disabilities. Having a lack of a voice and having a voice activated quirk wouldn't be surprising (though it would seem like a case of the universe mocking the poor victim of said circumstance).

And so, Shinsou had started his quest to learn sign language. People at his agency at first asked questions about the new print outs taped up hastily around his office, but that stopped pretty quickly. He'd done stranger things in his career as a hero. They would assume whatever they wanted to assume, and Shinsou wasn't typically one for giving (what he deemed) unnecessary explanations.

It was a month after their first encounter when he saw them again. It was on a different rooftop, though in the same district. Perhaps they lived somewhere nearby?

As soon as they were spotted, silver eyes flashed daringly toward purple. Now that he wasn't in a post-memory haze, he could study their costume more closely. The eyes were the only distinguishable feature, really— the rest of their face was covered in a black mask.

The black continued downward into a bodysuit, not unlike many he'd seen on both heroes and villains. Perhaps the most frustrating part of their appearance, however, was the deep green cloak that shrouded the majority of their body. Shinsou tried to not let his irritation show. Who knew what kind of weapons they could be hiding under there— that is, assuming they're on the wrong side of the law.

_-Hello, I am a pro hero-_ Shinsou signed, his fingers moving fluidly from near constant practice. _-Are you in need of assistance?-_

Silver eyes darted down to his hands. Shinsou's eyebrows lifted in hope. But then, their arms crossed. He heard a scoff before they walked away, clearly not impressed.

After that, Shinsou delved into the first tactic he should have tried— quirk database research.

Which, of course, turned out to be a complete waste of time.

The Japan Quirk Enrollment Archives listed several people with memory-based quirks. But, seeing as how having a photo on file is optional and all Shinsou had to go on was a pair of eyes that were beginning to haunt him in his sleep, it was essentially useless. There were plenty of people they could be, but he had next to nothing to help his search; no name, no address, no nothing.

Even stranger, searching villain databases also provided nothing.

Shinsou realized he could be assuming, though. Having been bullied as a child for having a "villainous" quirk himself, it would be hypocritical to impose that on another, especially one who had only done the harm of bringing up a memory he'd been trying to forget and rolling their eyes at him.

Thus, he decided to go for a different strategy.

Approximately two months after their first meeting, they run into each other again. And Shinsou knows it's a stupid idea, and he knows the consequences if they don't react well, but he can't help but think that this might have a shot of working. And so, he opens up his mouth—

And only gets out "Hey, are you—" before he's under their spell again.

When he awakes from a memory of being punched in the nose on the playground, they're gone.

So, yes, you could say that Shinsou is tired of their back and forth.

The two see each other more frequently now, though certainly not intentionally. It seemed both of them had staked out the warehouse district for their purposes, making interaction only inevitable.

Tonight will be different, though. No more being caught off guard. No more dancing around each other. He is waiting, just like he did the first time.

His efforts are rewarded rather quickly. They pop up on the same rooftop as him, and to his annoyance, he can distinctly spot a glimmer of amusement in that silver gaze. They curtsy mockingly, dipping their head and swishing their green cape to the side to show the expanse of weapons that he knows aren't there. When he'd first realized they didn't have any support items, he'd been relieved. Now it just feels like they're being cocky.

As he routinely did, Shinsou nodded politely back. If any of his fellow heroes knew about this little act, they wouldn't know what to think. Hell, _he_ barely knew what to think. So far as he could tell, they weren't a real threat. But then, if they weren't, that didn't explain their behavior toward him.

The pair stared each other down— this, too, they did each time. The silence was cut only by a warm spring breeze, ruffling their cloak and his hair simultaneously. The first sign of what was to come came in the mere twitch of their finger, and immediately, Shinsou was ducking down out of their reach.

They were quick, he'd realized long ago. Quick, agile, and light on their feet, seemingly weightless as they charged through the air, nothing but fists as their weapons.

And so the chase began. Kick, dodge, punch, grasp, twist, grunt— he felt compelled to let it end there, with him on the ground and their knee digging into his back, but this had to be believable. His plan was riding on it.

Growling, he rolls over, taking them tumbling onto the hard concrete surface with him. He hears them let out a gasp at the force, but they don't give up. They never do. All too soon, a leg is wrapped tight around his waist, and they're rolling him back around to their original position. Shinsou manages to catch a hand just before it hits a spot he know will knock him unconscious, then rotates their wrist, earning a pained yelp.

The sound made him let go in shock, and he scrambled to his feet. He'd never gotten that kind of noise out of them before. Their voice, it was—

Perhaps his plan was working a little too perfectly.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't have time to avoid a devastating kick to his side. Shinsou gasped, and if all the air hadn't already evacuated his lungs, then he was sure the rest of it did when they finished the job with a punch to the stomach.

When he toppled back onto his ass, he didn't have to fake the pain. He was hissing through his teeth, a hand holding his side, eyes in slits as he watched them dance off.

Well, he'd hoped this would go a little differently, but he would take what he could get.

Standing up without letting out any other agonized noises was near impossible. Shinsou clenched his jaw to force himself to be quiet. He silently thanked his agency's support staff for his upgraded shoes as he trailed after them. It was something about a new shock absorption technology from a country in Africa, and they were quite effective. Shinsou was like a ghost, moving from shadow to shadow under the veil of night.

Following them wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. 'Cocky,' he repeated in his head. They must have thought they did a number on him to be so careless.

The almost-skip they'd walked away with had died down into something more subdued. There was still a spring in their step, yes— but it was even and measured. There was no giddiness to it and…wait, could he hear humming? Yes, yes he could, and now that he noticed it, their footsteps matched the tempo of the song.

The green cloak swayed back and forth rhythmically as they moved, taunting him. If only he could rip it off. If only he could rip off the mask, too. If only he could get a good look, a name, figure out a way to stop this, _something_.

Shinsou was lucky for his instincts when his acquaintance stopped suddenly. He caught only the barest glimpse of silver eyes before he ducked back behind a brick wall. The humming had stopped. A stray cat meowed in the distance. He dared to peek out, seeing the green cape disappear into the next alley over.

The hero swallowed hard before he inched closer.

He could hear it again; their voice. The words were indistinguishable. He drew closer, closer, and—

"…yes, I know…no, it was fine…what?…okay, and what does that have to do with me?…yeah, I get it, fine just— no, I'll be there."

His breath hitched. So his observation from earlier was right. Their voice, it was—

They had to be barely younger than he was.

It was soft, though there was an annoyed tone to it. But it was higher than he might have expected, and somewhat monotone, as though they were trying to make up for their youth by keeping any ounce of emotion out of their words, but the main point was that it was _young_, far younger than it should be, and some part of his heart hurts.

"Yeah, I already said— look, if you didn't want me on the job, you wouldn't have called."

Shinsou's throat goes dry. He's a hero. He should use this to his advantage. He should use his support equipment, figure out a way to illicit a response and then take them down for good.

But he can't.

There's the sound of the phone call being ended, then a sigh. Shinsou hoists himself up onto a nearby firescape before they can see him.

To his disappointment, the mask is still on when they exist. The happiness in their step is gone, too. Whatever that phone call had been about, it wasn't a good thing.

Ten minutes later, after they'd long been gone, Shinsou is still lost in thought, that voice swirling around inside his head on repeat. He had to put an end to this game. He had to find a way.

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**Please leave a review, and see you guys next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**We're back again! Thank you for the support of this sequel, I promise to not let you down! If you want some mood music for this fic, there are two pieces that have really captured my attention.**

**Memory by Joseph William Morgan**

**The Encounter by ABBOTT, 2WEI, and Luna Morgenstern**

* * *

People often told Shinsou that he was fueled by spite, but he always liked to say it was determination. And right now, he was very much determined to stop the game of tag he and this mystery villain had been playing for the last three months.

If there was one thing people didn't associate with him, it was creativity. He understood why— his hero costume was pretty much all black. He stayed away from the spotlight. He spoke in an even monotone, eyes carefully blank at all times. So yes, he didn't give off a natural, free-spirit, artistic persona.

But Shinsou was in fact creative, just not in the way many people would think. Having already gone down all the standard avenues of trying to get his opponent in his grasp, Shinsou knew he had to diverge from the norm.

And he was pretty sure he had succeeded.

The underground hero toyed with the hearing aids as he waited in the shadows. He'd had to swallow his pride and talk to Bakugou of all people for this idea, but the one good thing about the explosive hero was that he didn't give a shit— he'd asked no questions when Shinsou questioned him about how his hearing aids worked, only barking out the bare minimum of an answer before stomping away. As he always did after interacting with Bakugou, Shinsou marveled at how Kirishima managed to tame such a beast.

Back to the matter at hand. You see, disabilities among heroes were a well kept secret in the hero community. It wasn't that they were seen as a weakness— but everyone knew that if word of their disabilities became public, villains would not hesitate to exploit them. Hell, if the opposite happened, everyone knew they would do the same. It was just how things were; every potential advantage had to be taken.

Things like Midoriya's reinforced arm braces were easy enough to hide. It seemed more like a style choice in his costume design than a medical necessity. As for Bakugou, Shinsou could still recall the day he'd been diagnosed with hearing problems by Recovery Girl. Everyone was told to stay out of his way that day in class; only Kirishima had been brave enough to approach him.

Apparently certain issues like this were common. Heroes with light-producing quirks could have vision damage over time, just like how Bakugou's explosions had slowly dwindled down his hearing to essentially nothing (though they should've all realized this before with how much he shouted).

And that was going to be Shinsou's key to unlocking his adversary.

The light metallic ping of a footstep on the warehouse roof alerted him to their presence. Shinsou was quick to hold his breath.

He glanced around the corner silently. Their hands were on their hips, and their head was swiveling back and forth, searching for him. Just when it looked like they were going to give up, Shinsou clicked a button on his belt.

The sound of a can being kicked in the distance played from the recorder he'd hidden. His acquaintance perked up immediately, and Shinsou would have been a fool to not notice the skip in their step as they began to make their way to the far side of the roof.

Perfect.

The underground hero didn't waste a second. He darted out from the shadows, a hearing aid in each hand. They whipped around the exact moment he needed them to. Shinsou captured their head between his hands, forcing the hearing aids on over their mask. The devices latched on, and he only had the time to smirk before he was pushed away by a brutal kick to the chest.

As soon as he landed on the rooftop, he pressed the mute button.

Satisfaction coursed through his veins as he watched them crumble to their knees, hands grasping desperately at the devices. There was fear in those silver eyes— something he hadn't seen before.

That fear quickly turned to fury when they realized what he did.

You see, hearing aids were meant to help (hence the word aid). These in particular were designed to stay on a hero's ears no matter what happened in battle; they were a product of the renowned Melissa Shield, so of course they were the industry standard for those who needed them.

But Shinsou had also discovered that they could be dialed down all the way to hearing absolutely nothing at all.

Shinsou stood and held up the remote, waving it tauntingly, and silver eyes looked even more enraged. They made to move forward, then paused. The underground hero almost felt bad when he saw the realization burst forth painfully in their eyes. They'd figured it out— he'd essentially made them quirkless. Their best weapon was out of commission.

Even with the mask, he could tell they were pouting. They crossed their arms, glaring at him like if they looked angry enough, it would somehow juxtapose the submission he'd forced them into.

"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" Shinsou started off conversationally.

The cloth over their lips moved— but then a light went off in their eyes. Ah, so they'd realized that, too. They were grinning now, because of course, all they had to do was not answer him. It was a draw.

The underground hero took a step closer. With the remote in his hand, he still had the advantage. "I'm guessing you can read lips?" he asked.

Silver eyes glanced down, then up again. They gave a disgruntled nod.

Good. Maybe he would get _something_ out of them. "If I say I won't use my quirk on you, will you talk?" The villain snorted, and Shinsou couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, I wouldn't either if the roles were reversed."

They rolled their eyes and cocked a hip impatiently. Their expression screamed "how long are you going to do this?"

Shrugging, Shinsou took to circling them. Despite their frequent encounters, this was the first up-close look he'd gotten. They were smaller than him, slim and clearly athletic, but he already knew that much. The green cloak obstructed most of their body, though, and for the first time, he realized why that must be. There were no weapons under there, after all. Perhaps…

He came back around front and fixed them with a look. "Let me guess— non-binary?"

A flash of righteous indignation lit up their eyes, and they started to open their mouth, but he held up his hands.

(He would later curse the fact that he'd cut them off.)

"Pansexual, if you were wondering," he said. "I'm not judging you, it was just an observation."

The anger in that silver gaze lessened only slightly before they glanced away. There was movement— their hands, they were fidgeting. Black gloved fingers toyed with the cloak uncomfortably, drawing it in closer to them. Shinsou wondered if he crossed a line.

(Ironic how basically taking someone's quirk away _wasn't_ crossing a line.)

As he circled them once more, this time finally noticing the swell in their chest they'd apparently been so desperate to hide, a thought occurred to him.

What if they didn't have the resources for the things they needed to feel comfortable?

Shinsou was no stranger to the difficulties of being LGBTQ+. He himself wasn't publicly out because, well…it just didn't matter much to him. The people he cared about knew (purple eyes, brown silky hair, and the smell of flowers rushed through his mind— he forced the memory out), and that was enough. It wasn't anyone's business who he was attracted to.

That being said…he was pretty sure the local help centers wouldn't cater to a villain, no matter how desperate they were.

A plan was already formulating in his head when he faced them again. "Still won't talk?" he tried. The answer he got was arms crossing again and a foot tapping.

Shinsou stepped back and pulled out the remote. "Okay." With that, he pressed the release button.

The hearing aids clattered to the rooftop, and Shinsou heard the sigh of relief. Fury returned to those silver eyes, mixed with a cocktail of pain, confusion, and disbelief. They edged away from him, as though they expected him to follow. He simply shrugged.

They dashed away into the night without another moment of hesitation. Shinsou didn't care. His mind was too busy racing with ideas.

* * *

Adding a new attachment to his utility belt hadn't been difficult, but it had drawn the eyes of several of his colleagues. Shinsou brushed them off like he always did. They didn't need to know.

Waiting to run into his midnight acquaintance again was the frustrating part. On the nights he waited on the rooftop, alone and staring up at the stars, he wondered if this time, he'd run them off for good. Whatever fragile trust their back-and-forth game had built, surely he'd broken it.

And yet, a week after their encounter, he is (pleasantly, oddly enough) surprised to see them standing on the top deck of an old rusted water tower, leaning against the rails almost expectantly.

When his scarf wraps around the railing, they don't move. Although they do, he noted with amusement, refuse to look in his direction. Petulant.

He pulleyed himself up. He didn't bother making his landing soft. They still stare resolutely out at the cityscape.

Shinsou unclipped the package from his belt, and silver eyes finally glanced sideways. The hero started to move forward. He stopped when he saw them begin to move back.

Instead, he lifted the package for them to see. They eyed it suspiciously. Sighing, Shinsou tossed it to them, giving them no option but to catch it.

He waited in dreadful silence as they unzipped it, doing so at an agonizingly slow pace that he knew was purposeful. And then, finally, recognition lit up their eyes.

They pull the binder out of the package, silver gaze darting up in question. _Finally._

"I have friends that are similar," Shinsou burst suddenly. He didn't know why it felt like the quiet had been choking him. Usually he liked it. "I didn't know what size you would need, so I got a couple. Make sure you don't wear it too long, because, you know, breathing. Twelve hours is usually the recommended amount of time. There are a few LGBTQ+ centers around that could help, also, if you need anything else. They're all pretty familiar with me because I refer a lot of people, so if you go in and give my name, they'll be sure to—"

_Aizawa placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're progressing, Shinsou. Why don't you see that?"_

_The second year student looked down, his frown growing deeper. "I'm still so far behind, sensei. All the work I put in…it's never enough to catch up with the rest of my class."_

_"Shinsou," his mentor mumbled, "Your classmates had a full **year** of proper training that you didn't. Some of them have even been training since they were children."_

_Shinsou had the decency to look ashamed at not thinking of that before, and he heard his teacher sigh. The hand slipped away, being replaced by a firm push toward the front door of the dorm._

_"Go think it over, okay? But I wouldn't be teaching you if I didn't think you were worth my time."_

_Nodding, Shinsou took his dismissal and entered the dorm. The bright lights of the common room forced him to close his eyes for a second._

_"SHIN-SHIN!"_

_When violet eyes cracked open again, their field of view was filled with the sight of his electric blond friend smiling from ear to ear._

_"You're finally back!" Kaminari cheered. "I've been waiting forever— look, I have this new theory on Todoroki, and I think I finally have enough evidence to claim he's an alien—"_

_"I'm not," said dual wielder droned from twenty feet away._

_The reply caught everyone else's attention, and soon there was a pair of bright green eyes landing on Shinsou._

_"Oh, hey!" Midoriya greeted. There was a familiar notebook in his hand, open and scrawled with notes only Midoriya could decipher. "Once you're done talking with Kaminari, would you mind coming over here? I've been thinking over your quirk some more, and I have some ideas on how we could keep testing and strengthening your abilities!"_

_"Ah yes, that reminds me of our one-on-one session tomorrow," Momo spoke up, her hands clasping together._

_Kirishima raised a hand. "Can I join?"_

_A couple other voices jumped in, and suddenly, a rush of warmth flooded Shinsou's heart. He still wasn't used to having…friends. As sad as it sounded, it just wasn't normal for him. Befriending someone who could force you to do whatever they wanted wasn't appealing to most people._

_And yet here he was, his classmates discussing who would get to try each of Midoriya's ideas with him, all chattering excitedly and smiling like it was all fine because it **was**._

_For a moment, Shinsou forgot his feelings of inferiority._

The underground hero gasped awake, finding himself thrown back into the present six years later. He blinked up at the stars groggily. He was right where he had been, on top of the water tower—

They were gone.

But so was the package.

Shinsou's brow furrowed as he got to his feet. Why did they give him a happy memory? As far as he could tell, they had control over what they made him see. So was that…

Was that supposed to be some strange attempt at a thank you?

* * *

They ducked into the second floor of an abandoned warehouse, breath still not really in their lungs. Immediately, they dumped the bag unceremoniously— giddily, they realized with a strange feeling churning in their stomach. They didn't let themselves linger on it for too long.

Multiple items (none of them designed to harm or capture, they noticed) fell out onto the grimy floor. As promised, there were binders of various sizes, all black and simple and seemingly perfect to go with their costume. There was also a handful of cards, each one for a different LGBTQ+ center within a few miles of this sector.

They stared at the business cards uncertainly for a few moments before tucking them away into a pocket.

Now on to the fun part— they didn't hesitate in dropping the cloak, then ripping off the mask. Short silver locks sprung free, and they sighed happily. Sometimes the mask just got too stuffy.

They zipped off enough of the body suit to nearly reveal their chest, then knelt down and picked through the binders. Finding one that they guessed looked about their size, they began working it on.

The second their chest flattened out, they felt tears stinging their eyes. It felt so…_right_. They felt like crying out of relief because wow, they'd never felt this normal before. They were finally how they knew they should be, and—

For the first time, they felt like they truly, actually belonged here in this world.

After they zipped the bodysuit back up, a flash of movement caught their attention. Through the broken window pane of the warehouse, they could see the strange hero lowering himself down from the water tower. He soon after disappeared into the night. Silver eyebrows scrunched together, and that uncomfortable feeling from earlier returned full force.

This whole thing was…confusing.

Who was this odd hero, this person who had made so many attempts at reaching out to them, but never capturing? For a while, it had been fun watching the hero get so frustrated, but then…then last week he'd seen right through them in a way people rarely did, and now, doing this, providing them with something so small but so big to make them feel okay, it—

They shuddered, frowning at the weird sensation coursing through them. It was unfamiliar, strange. It was something they shouldn't trust…even though, deep down inside, they knew they wanted to.

The mask went back on and the cloak returned to cover their body. They left the building silently, their next objective for the evening ahead of them. But their mind didn't leave that moment, the one where the hero had started chattering away like they just couldn't hold it back anymore—

Not for a long time.

* * *

**Put in a little bit of our mystery villain's POV just to give you a taste of what they're thinking. And yes, there are going to be LGBTQ+ themes, so if you don't like it, well...too bad. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome back! I'm going to put this in the story description too, but I did want to put a warning for some dark themes mentioned in this chapter. This story overall is going to be a bit darker than A Floral Fantasy, fyi. Enjoy!**

* * *

Some believe that avoidance is due to fear or anxiety. But…this villain wasn't ready to admit that. Not yet.

They had managed to go to an internet cafe during the daytime— it was always easy. Sticking to the shadows made it oddly simple to slip into the light without notice, even if it was uncomfortable.

_Hitoshi Shinsou,_ the online article read. _Hero Name: Echo. Quirk: Unlisted._

They held back a scoff. Must be an underground hero thing. If everyone knew how his quirk worked, he'd be at a constant disadvantage.

The more they read about him, the more confused they felt. There was hardly any information to be found on the hero…in some ways, they felt they knew him better than most (nope, that was another thought that made them feel weird, push it away).

When they left the cafe, their mind drifted to the binder back at their hideout. As per recommendation, they'd taken it off after twelve hours— reluctantly, of course, because they didn't want to lose the feeling of freedom they'd gained, but they did have to admit that their lungs were starting to get a bit tight. There were the business cards, too, that they also needed to look through now that they had his full name to give as a reference.

….but _why?_

Why them? Why him? Why did they meet? Why did they get into this little game? Why didn't they run when they saw him on the water tower? Why weren't they more suspicious of the gift?

And why did they have this strange feeling in their chest?

They didn't like it, they decided on the walk home. They didn't like this feeling, and if continuing the game caused it, then they would stop (no matter how entertaining this had been for the past few months).

They would accept the odd hero's gift and move on.

* * *

The olive branch had been extended and taken. All Shinsou could hope was that it really worked.

Within a couple days, he heard from one of the LGBTQ+ centers he'd given them a card for. Due to confidentiality reasons, the man at the front desk couldn't tell him who it was who'd used his name as a reference, but…he _hoped_. He hoped and he hoped, so much so that he was starting to think it was a strange thing to hope for a villain's wellbeing.

But it wasn't just a villain, it was a person, right?

_Right?_

Shinsou banished the thought before it spiraled out of control.

(But only because he'd already been thinking it over so much because he of all people of course knew what it was like to live in a world of grey, somewhere in that odd space in between the pure white of heroes and the inky black of villains, and why was it just so hard to view this particular villain as some destructive evil that he should be fighting to stop?)

Nope. Not letting his mind go there again. It was a Tuesday. The weekly staff meeting for his agency was in three minutes. That would surely take his attention away from his acquaintance.

(Who was he kidding, he hated staff meetings.)

The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out from the large table. A number of underground heroes were gathered around, most looking disgruntled like him. There was often a stereotype when it came to their sort of hero work: introverted, easily irritated, probably had an emo phase at some point in their life. Looking around at his coworkers, Shinsou was starting to think the stereotype existed for a reason. He blended right in with his dark eye bags, crossed arms, and lips in a forever flat line.

He wondered what _their_ lips looked like. Or any part of them, really. The mystery was beginning to drive him crazy.

"Afternoon," came the usual drawl. It was deep and lazy, but enough to snap Shinsou back to reality. His boss stood at the head of the table, that constant unimpressed look in his eyes. "What's being handed out to you is our latest update on the trafficking ring in the Akihabara sector. Gravesight, fill us in on your stakeouts for the past few weeks. Take notes, everyone."

The menacing figure of Gravesight, shrouded in gray and black and honestly looking like the Grim Reaper's brother, stood. "Thank you, Wolfsbane. I have collected information that I think will chill everyone in this room to the bone."

Shinsou sort of spaced out after that. He'd already read the emails, so…he didn't really know why this was necessary. Plus, he wasn't even assigned to the team handling this, so why was he here? Why wasn't he back at his apartment sleeping in preparation for another night shift?

(Another night shift that he hoped wouldn't be void of them, again.)

Somewhere in the haze of not paying attention, the sound of coworkers' pens scratching away at paper reached his ears. Shinsou stared at the writing utensils blankly. Really, what was the use in paper and pen? Their agency had a system of ensuring all data was filed away in their company server, so even if they took notes, all of it would have to be transcribed into the—

A metaphorical lightbulb went off over his head. At the same time, he also felt like the most dim-witted person in the world.

Pen and paper.

A method of communication.

A method of _silent_ communication.

The moment the meeting was over, Shinsou ran out to the nearest bookstore and bought a notebook perfectly sized for one of his belt pouches.

* * *

Carrying the notebook around constantly felt like a never ending reminder that he hadn't seen them in two weeks.

He hadn't heard anything more from the LGBTQ+ center, but that was to be expected. Privacy policies and all that. Even if he asked, they wouldn't be allowed to give him any information. And he didn't feel like pulling the pro hero card because he knew from experience how private these matters were.

(But _shouldn't_ he pull the pro hero card? They're literally a villain.)

It's the end of another fruitless night. Well, not entirely— he'd managed to save a woman cornered in an alleyway, captured a couple thugs, and brought an abandoned cat to a local shelter. But it was another night without seeing them, and for all the hope he'd once had in his peace offering, it was close to withering away.

The never ending _thump thump_ of the notebook tapping against his thigh as he walked seemed to mock him. He all but threw the pouch it was hidden within onto the couch as soon as he entered his apartment. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and Shinsou didn't want to see it. He was tired, frustrated, and beginning to think that he'd really chased them off for good this time.

And yet, the world didn't stop spinning just because he was annoyed. Thus, twelve hours later, he was suiting up for another night shift.

Shinsou was nearly at the door when he paused. The notebook. He backtracked to it. Violet eyes stared at the pouch far longer than he'd like to admit. After a full five minutes of contemplation, he picked it up and reattached it to his belt.

The dark of night was comforting as he slipped out into it. He took to the shadows with practiced ease, only being spotted when he wanted to (and with the admittedly foul mood he was in, that was rare).

The underground hero patrolled his usual sector. It was an oddly quiet night. The stars were twinkling above, the sound of trains in the distance echoed against the old brick and rusted metal buildings of the warehouse district, and he was…alone. Again.

Shinsou only realized his eyes had betrayed him after he'd been gazing up at their (their? as in him and them? was it really okay to be having such thoughts?) rooftop unblinkingly for a minute straight. The notebook rested heavily against his thigh. He sighed.

The path over to the building was uncomfortably familiar at this point. It was starting to feel like how the halls at UA had— normal and part of your daily routine in a way you only noticed when you no longer had to come this way.

So perhaps the familiarity of it was what threw him off. Perhaps it was because he was so caught up in this strange nostalgia that he didn't notice them at first. But when he finally heard a soft sniff, one that instantly clawed at his heart, all the hope that had been draining away so quickly filled him up once more.

Shinsou had to force himself to not dash up to the rooftop. They were like a cat, he'd realized long ago— playful yet skittish when they were uncertain.

He utilized a nearby fire escape to swing himself onto the neighboring rooftop. When he landed on _their_ rooftop, he winced. He'd forgotten about the stray pieces of gravel up here. Surely they'd noticed his arrival?

But no, they didn't turn around.

Even from a distance, the hero could see how their shoulders were tense. They were in their usual garb, but with them facing away, the green cloak hid them almost entirely. They were sitting on the edge of the roof, back hunched over, and Shinsou approached cautiously. He'd seen too many situations like this before…they weren't going to jump, were they? Was that why he hadn't seen them in so long?

Again, a flood of confusion ran through his mind. They were a _villain_, the logical part of him chastised. Why should he care? It would save him a lot of trouble if they _did_ jump.

Shinsou quickly told that little voice to shut the hell up.

The notebook, along with the pencil he'd stashed away, were already in his hands when he sat down two feet away from them. He glanced to the side as subtly as possible. He tried to not immediately speak out loud when he saw tears streaming down the black mask.

Swallowing, Shinsou flipped to the first page. He contemplated what to say for a moment. Then, he just decided to stop beating around the bush.

* * *

They hated crying. They hated it because they did it too much— or maybe it wasn't too much compared to normal people, but they didn't _know_ what normal people were like, all they knew was their father's face years ago telling them to stop being so emotional and—

A nudge on their hand made them startle.

Glassy silver eyes looked up, wide because they'd honestly forgotten they had company. Of course they'd noticed him sitting down, but—

Violet eyes were staring at them (and not judgmentally…that was nice). The hero's gaze flickered down, and they followed it.

There was a notebook next to their hand, open to the first page.

**What's wrong?**

They blinked.

And then they immediately realized what he'd done, how he'd gone to yet another great length to figure out some sort of safe communication method with them, how he'd put aside all their jumbled up history with just two words, and they felt tears threatening to spill over again.

They felt like they grabbed the notebook and pencil both too fast and not fast enough. And then they froze, staring down at the paper blankly. What could they possibly say? How could any sentence unravel the tail of the endless aching of their heart?

They settled for the only thought their muddled mind could come up with.

**Nothing a hero would understand.**

Violet eyes blinked, they noted. But again, no judgement, only…confusion. As if this hero genuinely didn't get what they'd written.

The notebook was taken back. They ignored the brush of their costumes. They didn't bother watching him write, and it turned out they didn't need to. The reply was quick, two words they'd never forget.

**Try me.**

More tears flooded silver eyes unbidden. 'Why?' they asked themself for the millionth time. Why why why _why?_ Why was this hero so strange? Why didn't they treat them as the villain they were? Why wasn't he backing down? Why was he—

There was a nudge with the notebook for them to take it back. They stared at the hero incredulously. The look on his face told them he was expecting an answer.

Sighing, black gloved hands swiped the book and pencil once more. Perhaps next time they should bring their own writing utensil…wait, next time?

After inwardly shaking their head at the intrusive (yet oddly elusive) thought, they looked down at the paper, thinking. They didn't realize they'd brought the pencil up to their mouth to chew on until it met the cloth of their mask. They were quick to pull it away before the hero noticed.

Finally, they answered with their own two words.

**I'm lonely.**

They handed the materials back, not making eye contact with the hero. It was…as honest of an answer they could give right now. Delving into their entire life's story with a stranger (were they really strangers at this point, though?) wasn't a favorite pastime of theirs.

They played with their hands awkwardly as they listened to the pencil scratching on paper. It was a quiet night…a nice one, they decided. Too bad they felt horrible— this would've been a fun evening for a game of tag-the-hero.

This time, the notebook was placed directly in their field of vision.

**Well you have been avoiding me.**

They looked up, silver eyes wide, but the hero wasn't angry— there's actually a slight curve to his lips. Under the mask and hood, they could feel their ears starting to burn hot in embarrassment. They hadn't expected him to be so…forward. But of course he'd figured it out. They should've known he would. Despite his multiple ridiculous attempts at speaking to them, he was clearly intelligent.

(It only occured to them later that if they'd ever actually wanted to completely avoid the hero, then they shouldn't have traversed the same path he usually did every night in the first place.)

Suddenly feeling particularly childish, they crossed their arms and turned their head away. And, of course, the sound of scribbling resumed.

The notebook was yet again thrust in front of their face.

**Why were you avoiding me?**

They pursed their lips. They didn't have to answer. They knew they didn't have to. They knew if they refused to engage in their only form of communication, then eventually the hero would have to give up and leave.

And yet…

They snatched the notebook, scrawled out a response, and all but threw it back in the hero's face.

**Why are you trying to run into me?**

The hero actually lets out a snort at their counter-argument. A _snort_.

**Touché.**

A hum that somehow seemed to signal agreement escaped their throat before they could stop it. Perhaps they weren't the only one questioning this little game they played.

Silence overtook them. It wasn't…uncomfortable, it just sort of was. They'd reached an impasse, a stand still in the already stilted conversation. The moon and stars, as they always were, were the only witness to their strange acquaintanceship (relationship was too weighty of a word to use at this point).

It was only after five minutes of this silence that they realized they were no longer crying. They hadn't been for a while, now.

Just as they'd come to this revelation, they were drawn out of it by movement. They glanced to the left— the hero was writing something down again. A minute passed, and when the message was given to them, it was with a somber look that ran deep in those piercing violet eyes.

**I know how loneliness can be. It's not a fun feeling.**

'Understatement of the century,' they think.

They reach over and pluck the pencil right out of his grasp, and yes their costumes brush again, this time a little closer, and yes they can feel some of the heat radiating from the hero, and yes they ignore all of it.

(Who are they kidding, it feels like all of their senses have been dialed to eleven.)

Brain on the fritz, all they could write was the following:

**No it's not.**

And that was that. There was a sense of finality in the reply, a tone that said 'and that's all you're getting out of me for now.'

Which was fine, because the pair seemed to silently decide to return to their usual form of communication— body language that they were finely attuned to interpreting.

The hero, who looked a little disappointed at their closing statement, began to open his mouth. They lifted an eyebrow, daring him. Immediately, his mouth snapped shut, and his eyes rolled. They grinned in satisfaction.

If nothing else, at least they knew it was still fun to mess with him.

They stood from the ledge. An early autumn breeze whipped their cloak out behind them. Silver eyes dared to meet purple once more. There were questions in those eyes. They knew there had to be questions in theirs, too.

The game wasn't over— not yet. Still, it did feel like it had shifted somehow. And they'd done enough shifting for today. Any more and they might break.

With a half-assed salute, they turned on their heel and walked into the shadows of night.

They would later wonder if how many times they glanced behind to see if the hero had followed was strange.

* * *

**Me, my eyes wide and looking to the side like that emoji: oops, guess things are changing. Please leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Hello everyone! Just wanted to let you know that I've been sick and also busy with a new job. I do plan on continuing this story, but it probably won't be a super-consistent update schedule. I have a bunch planned for these two, so I hope you'll stick around!

-Selena


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